


#PuppyLove

by Adrianners



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Pre-Relationship, discussions of animal death, set during the Summer of UST, well mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14681124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrianners/pseuds/Adrianners
Summary: Viktor doesn’t know that Yuuri ever had a poodle of his own. When people around Hasetsu keep bringing up Vicchan and confusing Viktor, who thinks they’re talking about him, Yuuri realizes it’s time to introduce Viktor to the dog who shared his name.In which there are beachside showers, dog biscuits, and selfies, and they have a conversation about the banquet that isn’t really about the banquet.





	#PuppyLove

Makkachin was filthy. No amount of holding her under the beachside showers was going to get the sand and saltwater out of her coat. On the plus side, wrestling with his dog was getting Viktor just as covered in sand, and Yuuri felt that was fitting payback for Viktor repeatedly dunking him without warning while they swam.

It wasn’t officially a rest day. They had jogged to the beach, and swimming could count toward Yuuri’s off-ice cardio hours. But it _felt_ like a rest day, not least of all because Viktor bought them ice cream on the way and didn’t make a single comment about how many slant-board sit-ups they would have to do later.

Besides, even if neither of them said it out loud, they were there to have fun. They messed around at the rink sometimes, with Viktor improvising parodies of other skaters’ programs or Yuuri teaching him basic ice dance partner moves he’d picked up in Detroit, but that was always either after they’d finished the day’s work or when they desperately needed a break. Today had been nothing but goofing off.

“Oh my god, this is hopeless!” Viktor gasped out between peals of laughter. He stood and brushed at his legs and chest, leaving more sand behind than was there in the first place. “Let’s just get ourselves clean, then deal with this monster later. Can we wash her in the bathhouse tubs, or is that another onsen rule I’m not allowed to break?”

“I think that would cause trouble,” Yuuri answered, predicting Viktor’s exaggerated frown before it happened. “We could try the garden hose, or we could even stop by a groomer on our way back. Makkachin looks overdue for a trim anyway.”

“Going to use your golden boy celebrity charm to make them clear their bookings, Yuuri?” Viktor teased as he stepped back under the spray.

Yuuri made a face and focused on getting the worst patches of sand off. Makkachin had shaken her whole body and managed to land a glob of sand in his _ear_ , and he’d been at least a meter away at the time. Without warning, there were hands in his hair and tepid water landing squarely on top of his head, running down his face and into his eyes. He spluttered, slapped at the hands holding him in place, and heard Viktor laugh in response.

“That’s for making fun of me instead of helping with Makkachin!” Viktor shouted over the sound of the spray.

“Oh yeah?” Yuuri yelled back. “Then this is for all the times you dunked me today!”

He made a grab for Viktor, shoving his head where the water was strongest. They both shrieked and play-fought until Yuuri, his skin washed clean of salt and sand, ducked away from Viktor’s grasp and ran from the stream of water.

“Coward!” Viktor called after him.

Yuuri turned back. Viktor was still under the shower, grinning broadly as he scrubbed the last of the sand from his hair. The water pooled in his collar bone and trailed across every defined muscle of his torso. His swimming trunks were waterlogged and riding dangerously low on his hips. Yuuri had considered himself immune to Viktor’s body at this point, having seen him naked in the baths on an almost daily basis for months. He was wrong. Oh, he was _so_ wrong.

He made a mad dash for the changing stalls.

* * *

“ _Welcome! Ah, Yuuri-kun, it’s been a while_!” Itou Ayame rushed around the counter to greet him. She and her wife, Sumire, had been Vicchan’s groomers. Yuuri thought they’d attended Onsen on Ice with their teenage son, but that competition was a bit of a blur. He hadn’t made any proper greetings to them since returning to Hasetsu, and now here he was, looking for a walk-in appointment for a sand-covered poodle. If Mari heard about this, she was sure to say something sardonic about Detroit turning Yuuri into an American.

“ _I’m sorry for staying away so long, Itou-san._ ”

“ _No, no, don’t worry about it. You’ve been very busy, everybody knows that. And is this your new coach?_ ” She switched to heavily accented English. “Hello! I am Ayame. It’s nice to meet you.”

Viktor had been watching the conversation with a bemused smile. He’d spent the last three months asking Yuuri about Japanese words and phrases and could understand a fair amount of what was said to him, but on the speaking side he was still limited to basic pleasantries and requesting that people repeat themselves slowly, no, slower than that. To make matters worse, the range of people he was exposed to meant his dialect was a mix of the older locals’ Saga-ben and the _hyoujungo_ he heard from Yuuri’s generation and Minako. Viktor’s inability to reach fluency in mere weeks seemed to frustrate him, no matter how much Yuuri pointed out that picking up a new language at 27 was bound to be difficult, even for someone who was already trilingual and knew how to order a beer almost anywhere in the world. Ayame’s introduction, however, gave him the opportunity to use one of the phrases he had mastered.

“ _Yoroshiku onegai-shimasu, Ayame-san!_ ” he chirped.

“Your Japanese is very good, Viktor. Ah… _Yuuri-kun, I’m not sure how to say this in English. Could you thank him for taking care of you?_ ”

Yuuri passed on the message but froze the second he saw the change in Viktor’s face. He was frowning almost imperceptibly, his eyes and mouth tightening just a bit. That Yuuri noticed it at all was a sign of how close their partnership had become over the summer.

“‘Taking care’? It sounds like I’m baby-sitting you, Yuuri. Is that what people around here think I’m doing?” he asked, keeping a light, empty smile in place in front of Ayame.

“It’s just a phrase. It means, like… I’m obligated to you.” He shouldn’t have translated it so literally in the first place, but he’d been put on the spot.

“But you’re not,” Viktor insisted.

“Kind of am, really.” Yuuri continued before Viktor could interrupt, since he looked like he wanted to. “Look, it’s just a thing we say in Japan to be polite. The actual meaning doesn’t matter. She’s glad that you’re coaching me, that’s all.”

“Okay.” He still didn’t look happy about it. “Well… _I’m doing my best, Ayame-san._ That’s the right thing to say now, isn’t it?”

Ayame beamed at them both, then turned her attention to Makkachin, who was sitting politely at Viktor’s feet.

“ _It looks like you had fun at the beach today! Are you here for a bath?_ ”

“ _Yes, this is Makkachin, Viktor’s dog. We’re sorry to presume, but could you please bathe and clip her if you have time?_ ”

“ _We actually have the next hour free. I’m sure Sumire will be glad to groom a poodle again. She’s just as cute as Vicchan!_ ”

Makkachin was a model pet during her bath and grooming. Ayame and Sumire exclaimed over her and gave her far too many treats. Yuuri played interpreter as needed, but the Itous and Viktor mostly communicated by cooing over the hundreds of Makkachin pictures that Viktor had on his phone. The only awkward moments came from the confused looks Viktor would shoot Yuuri every time Ayame or Sumire reminisced about Vicchan.

The Itous sent them on their way with a freshly clipped poodle and a complimentary bag of homemade dog biscuits. Makkachin pranced beside them, showing off her clean, new coat to the passersby, who all seemed suitably impressed.

Viktor spent several blocks baby-talking to Makkachin in Russian. The Russian classes Yuuri had taken in college, despite having no practical use for the credits, gave him just enough skill to pick out maybe one in ten words. The image of the world’s #1 ranked skater babbling something like “Who’s a pretty doggy, then?” made Yuuri wish for more social media savvy. He didn’t have the guts to snap a picture without permission, and he wasn’t sure how to compose a cute but teasing caption. #LivingLegendofNerds? No, too mean. #PuppyLove? Tacky and gave the wrong impression—not that the world didn’t already think he was dating Viktor, probably.

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri jumped. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“I said I want to get a picture with Makkachin. Is that all right?”

“Oh. Uh, sure. Give me your phone and I’ll—”

Viktor’s eyebrows shot up. “What? No, all three of us! Here, you kneel down on that side. Now put your arm around Makkachin too. Perfect! Smile!”

The picture was pretty good. Viktor looked angelic in the late afternoon light. Makkachin’s tongue was lolling out just so, cute but not sloppy. Yuuri’s smile was only half-grimace; he even, dare he say it, looked happy with his head resting against Viktor’s so they both fit in the frame. Maybe it wasn’t “The best photo ever taken in human history,” as Viktor termed it, but Yuuri felt he wouldn’t be opposed to more pictures like this.

Viktor had already selected a filter and moved on to the caption screen. “Caption: Look who got a haircut!!! Three exclamation marks, no more, no less. At yurikatsuki—one U, no punctuation—who needs to get on IG more so I can be in his selfies too. Hashtag Makkachin, hashtag beach day, hashtag I love Hasetsu, hashtag…” He paused and chewed his lip for a moment. “Puppy love! Oh my god, perfect.”

Yuuri was absolutely certain his heart had stopped. He was going to keel over dead any second now. He could barely nod when Viktor showed him the final post for approval. Once Viktor was satisfied the post had gone through, they set out homeward again.

“I’m so glad you’re a dog person, Yuuri. I honestly don’t know whether I could have coached you if you didn’t like my Makkachin.” Viktor seemed completely unaware of the painful shiver Yuuri felt at the prospect of him leaving. “Cats and other pets are fine too, of course, but dogs are the absolute best, you know?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri mumbled.

“How did you know the groomers so well, anyway? Are they family friends?”

Yuuri stopped walking abruptly. Of course Viktor didn’t know. Vicchan’s tags were on the shrine in Yuuri’s parents’ room, and his leash and bowl were packed away in some storage closet or other. There was no sign that the Katsukis had ever owned a dog.

“Come on.” Yuuri, shocked at his own boldness, took Viktor’s hand and led the way toward Yutopia. “There’s something I need to show you.”

* * *

Yuuri knelt in front of the shrine and motioned for Viktor to join him. Makkachin flopped down in front of them, and Viktor stroked the dog’s newly clipped belly absent-mindedly.

“ _It’s been a while, Vicchan,_ ” Yuuri said softly in Japanese. 

“What?”

“Sorry. I was just greeting him.” He had considered saying it in English for Viktor’s benefit, but it felt wrong. Vicchan had only heard Yuuri speak Japanese.

“No, I caught that part. I mean you said my name, or what your parents call me, anyway. So did Ayame and Sumire. Like, a lot.” Viktor was frowning in earnest now, no showman’s masks to hide it.

Yuuri took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. He wasn’t sure _why_ it was important for Viktor to know this, but it was. Maybe it was a piece of Yuuri’s life that he didn’t feel afraid to offer Viktor, a weak sort of trade for the coaching, the flirtation, and now the tentative friendship.

“I didn’t. I said my dog’s name.”

“Your dog was called Vicchan?” 

“My dog was called Viktor.” Yuuri kept his eyes firmly on his own knees. In his peripheral vision, he could see Viktor’s hand had stilled on Makkachin’s coat.

Staying quiet was becoming uncomfortable, but Yuuri had no idea what to say. Maybe bringing Viktor here was a mistake. Now that he could finally see the full extent of Yuuri’s obsession with him, surely he was mortified. Would he even be able to stay on as Yuuri’s coach, or had this revelation destroyed any hope for their partnership?

“Yuuri.” Viktor’s voice interrupted Yuuri’s thoughts. “You named your dog after me?”

“Yes. And I got a toy poodle because I saw a magazine article about you and Makkachin.”

Viktor’s fingers inched forward under Yuuri’s chin and lifted. Yuuri reluctantly allowed his head to be raised. Then he forgot how to breathe. Viktor was smiling with a kind of awe, as if Yuuri had descended from the heavens to a soundtrack of violins or something equally dramatic and ridiculous.

“That,” Viktor said, “is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

His hand was still on Yuuri’s chin. It took all Yuuri’s self-control not to close the gap between them and press his lips to Viktor’s. He wanted to. He was certain Viktor would allow it and respond in kind. Viktor leaned forward a bit, an open invitation waiting for Yuuri to accept.

_What am I doing?_ he thought.

He reached up and carefully brushed Viktor’s hand away. Viktor immediately sank back on his heels to a less intimate distance, looking disappointed but resigned.

“Is it rude of me to ask how Vicchan died?”

“Seizures,” Yuuri answered. “He had small ones for years, but this huge one came out of nowhere one day. His medication didn’t do anything, it just wouldn’t stop. Letting him suffer until it killed him would have been cruel. It happened… early last December.”

“The Grand Prix Final?” Viktor’s eyes had gone wide. He was almost certainly ascribing all of Yuuri’s falls and errors to Vicchan’s death, never mind that Yuuri had a lifelong history of anxiety interfering with his performance at high-stakes competitions. 

Yuuri had medaled at All-Japan four years in a row and won the first-ever Challenger Series, but he always choked at Worlds and had royally screwed up his Sochi Olympics performance, barely reaching the top ten. The Grand Prix Final was part of the pattern, not an anomaly. It was just worse than usual. But Yuuri could correct Viktor’s misconceptions later.

“Yes. Mom called to tell me they’d put him down the day before the free skate.” It had gotten much easier to think about after the last seven months. He still felt a deep throb of regret at not being there for Vicchan at the end, but the pain was an old one now.

“Yuuri, that’s terrible. How did you even get out on the ice?”

Yuuri shot him an incredulous look. “I couldn’t just quit. You wouldn’t have.”

“Are you kidding? If it had been me, I would’ve withdrawn from the free skate and locked myself in my hotel room with a whole case of whiskey. No wonder you got so—”

“I would have skated badly no matter what,” Yuuri interrupted. He didn’t need to hear Viktor’s blunt critique of his GPF programs again. “It’s not like my short program was all that good either. I was worse at All-Japan, and that was three weeks later. It was my lack of confidence that screwed me up the most, not trauma over my dog dying.” There. That would set him straight.

Viktor waved a hand dismissively, as if he hadn’t been the one to bring up Yuuri’s failure in the first place. “You’ll redeem yourself in Barcelona. God, I can’t believe you came to the banquet after that. You’re amazing, Yuuri, seriously.”

So Viktor had noticed Yuuri doing his best to merge with the wallpaper at the banquet. Great. How did one Youtube video draw Viktor to Japan after the series of terrible impressions Yuuri had obviously given him in Sochi? How, despite all evidence to the contrary, was he so certain that Yuuri would overcome his own nerves and qualify for the Final again?

Makkachin butted her head against Viktor’s hand and whined. Viktor chuckled and went back to petting her. The three of them sat in silence, less awkward than before. Suddenly, Viktor snapped his head up and fixed Yuuri with a hard stare.

“Wait. Does that mean your parents nicknamed me after the family pet?”

“Um, yeah. I guess so.”

Viktor burst out laughing so hard that he doubled over, clutching his stomach and slapping his other hand against the tatami mats. Yuuri felt a smile slowly spreading across his own face as well. Viktor was still here. He had seen the most embarrassing pieces of Yuuri’s past, and they hadn’t scared him away.

“I’ll—” Viktor had to pause and catch his breath before trying to speak again. “I’ll do my very best to live up to my namesake’s example!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Yuuri. “You’ve been much harder to train so far.”

Where had that even come from? What was _wrong_ with him? Viktor had broken off mid-laugh, and now he was gawking, open-mouthed.

“Yuu~ri! You’re so cruel!” There was that heart-shaped smile. “And after I asked your mother to make you a special dinner of katsudon tonight, too!”

“You… what?” First ice cream and the beach, now katsudon? What was Viktor playing at?

“Well, I asked Mari to ask your parents, since my Japanese is still soooo terrible, but it sounded like she repeated everything I said, at least I think I heard ‘katsudon’ and Hiroko looked very happy about it—”

“But I didn’t win anything. I don’t even have a competition until September,” Yuuri pointed out.

“Who cares?” Viktor shrugged. “Let’s ignore the rules today. Rules mean nothing if they aren’t motivating you.”

Yuuri just stared dumbly.

“Besides,” Viktor continued, “sometimes you have to say ‘enough’ and do what makes you happy. You’ve been looking a little… I dunno, stretched? Is that the right word?”

“I think I know what you mean.” Yuuri did feel stretched thin by the grueling practice schedule, like he was leaving pieces of himself behind at the rink and dance studio every day but still had to take up the same amount of space afterward.

“I’ve felt that way too.” Viktor paused and gave Yuuri an appraising look, checking his reaction.

Yuuri tried his best to look interested and supportive, despite feeling some apprehension because he could never predict what would come tumbling out of Viktor’s mouth next. Viktor must have liked what he saw, because he gave a faint smile and went on.

“It’s part of why I came to Japan, I think. Like by leaving Russia and being here maybe I could feel… more like my whole self. Oh, but I also really believe I can get you to the Final! I’m not _totally_ selfish.”

“I know you aren’t,” Yuuri murmured.

Viktor beamed and Makkachin thumped her tail on the tatami. Yuuri joined Viktor in rubbing her belly. It seemed a fitting tribute to Vicchan to spend time in this room with the person and the dog who had inspired Yuuri to get his own puppy. Viktor scooted a bit closer so their shoulders and thighs bumped when they moved. The proximity was too warm in the mid-July humidity, but Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“It’s been good to spend so much time with Makkachin this summer. Normally, I’d be busy with ice shows and getting my new programs ready. I never get to see her as much as I want.” Viktor sighed. “She’s sixteen now. I’m not delusional, I know it’s just a matter of time before she goes, but… I’m not ready. I don’t think I ever will be. I’ve had her since I was twelve.”

“I was about the same age when I got Vicchan.”

Their fingers brushed together in Makkachin’s fur. Yuuri suppressed the instinct to yelp and yank his whole arm back, although he couldn’t stop the way his breath hitched at the contact. Slowly, carefully, Viktor’s little finger stroked the back of Yuuri’s hand.

“Thank you for showing me this,” Viktor whispered, as if he was afraid speaking too loudly would send Yuuri running, just as it had so many times before. “For showing me it’s possible to get through this.”

“Of course,” Yuuri whispered back. “I’m glad it helped.”

“Hey, Yuuri?” In over a decade of watching Viktor, Yuuri had never seen him look nervous, not even when he stepped onto the ice in Torino at seventeen, a surprise frontrunner for gold after the top skaters withdrew due to injuries or flubbed their short programs. He looked nervous now, a bit twitchy and not quite meeting Yuuri’s eyes. “I don’t know if I’m breaking some unspoken rule we have, but can we talk about what happened at—”

“ _There you are_!” Mari stuck her head into the room. “ _Mom says dinner will be done soon. Come help me set up._ ”

“Yay, katsudon!” Viktor cheered. He helped Yuuri stand, and they both stretched the pins and needles out of their legs after kneeling on the floor for so long.

“What were you saying just now?” Yuuri asked as Viktor used his shoulder for balance to work a pinched muscle out of his hip.

Viktor paused and gave the same affectionate smile he’d worn in the moment before Yuuri almost kissed him.

“You know what? Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Talking isn’t going to change who we are now. I think I prefer it this way, honestly.” He was out the door and cheerfully helping Mari set the table before Yuuri could ask what on earth he meant by ‘this way.’ What other way could they be?

Someday, Yuuri thought, the things Viktor said would start making sense. 

He just had to keep listening.

**Author's Note:**

> What's this? I'm posting twice in one week? With G-rated _fluff_ this time? Well. Mostly fluff. Like [In the hope that some of them will hurt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661840), this was lacking just a few hundred words for months (a literal year this time), and finishing the Yuri/Mila/Otabek one-shot I can't post until after “Measure” is done has 1) opened a slot in my maximum allowed open Word files, and 2) made me better at figuring out weird transition moments. Hope you enjoyed, and please stay tuned if you're waiting for the conclusion of “Measure”! It's slowly chugging along.


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